


Suddenly, It's Wrong

by Minx_DeLovely



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minx_DeLovely/pseuds/Minx_DeLovely
Summary: Spike is a Djinn, trapped in an amulet and controlled by Angel. This is a fanfic based on my friend's wonderful fan work, "Suddenly You're Mine," by Dorian's Kitten.
Relationships: Angel/Spike (BtVS)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Suddenly, It's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Suddenly, You're Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/704582) by Dorian's Kitten. 



> Dorian's Kitten betae'd this story for me, and we worked over the themes together. I wanted to pay her the ultimate compliment of having someone do a fanfic of her writing.

Spike knew it was dangerous to push Angel; since the magical irony machine that was his life had trapped him in an amulet and turned him into a Djinn, Angel essentially owned him. For the first time, Spike was fully aware he was being permitted to argue. The stakes were too hight to remain silent, though.

Angel marched into his bedroom--his posh bedroom with the impossible view, and tugged off his shirt to change into his silk pajamas with Spike hot on his heels.

“You don’t realize what this place is doing to you. All this power and luxury is picking at your edges. They’re trying to pull up anchor on your soul--” Spike said.

“You know what, Spike. Blow me--” Angel said it in anger, not realizing the command in his words.

Or maybe he did.

Either way Spike sank to his knees in front of his “master” and started to undo his belt. 

“Take it back, Angel.” Spike slid the leather out of the loops, completely against his will. 

Angel smirked down at him. “I don’t know, I seem to remember you being good at that.”

Spike undid Angel’s fly and brought his pants down to his ankles, along with his campy red silk boxers. Angel’s cock was hardening. There was no such thing as a joking erection. Spike grabbed the base of Angel’s shaft and started pumping, feeling the blood surge.

“You’re really gonna make me do this you son of a---” Spike’s mouth sank down on Angel’s penis, cutting off the rest of his sentence. 

It was terrible feeling so out of control, yet strangely, horribly erotic, too. Not being able to say no was turning him on. He’d been with Angelus that way so many times. Even as his soul ached for cheating on Buffy, part of his blood called out for Angel’s dominance. He hated himself for the betrayal, however unable he was to resist Angel’s commands.

If he was Buffy’s knight, willing to don her armor and charge into battle holding her flag, he had always been Angelus’ slut. He loved to suck on command, to be fucked and used and thrown out in the morning. Part of him--the demon part--even loved the craven act of digging the hole for Angelus’ corpses. He supposed that was the other side of his masochist coin. 

Spike grabbed Angel’s hips, stroking the soft skin with his thumbs as he continued to suck his cock. He glanced up to see Angel’s eyes shut, and him biting his lower lip. Spike swirled his tongue on the underside, a move he knew that would cut down the duration of his degradation considerably. It was strange how he had choices to make even in subservience. 

Angel ran his fingers through Spike’s hair, gently at first. Then he grabbed a handful and held Spike’s head in place while he fucked his mouth. With his other hand, he slapped Spike’s cheek--not hard enough to knock him off his rhythm, just hard enough to remind him whose dick he was sucking. Angelus liked to play those kind of rough games to establish the pecking order. Even though Darla was always the real power at the top in their little quad, Angelus always fancied himself the boss. Angel still didn’t realize Darla only ever needed a male figurehead to make her travels in the world a little easier and safer.

Spike responded to the slap the only way he was able--by getting hard.

Angel’s movements started to get uncoordinated. Spike took control again, quickening his pace to hasten Angel’s orgasm. His master came with a grunt, spilling his come down Spike’s throat; cold and salty as deep ocean water. Spike finished milking his sire, then tried to pull away, but couldn’t. He looked up at Angel, pleading. Angel stared at Spike with irritation, because the stimulation of his mouth had to have hurt, until he realized he had to be the one to make it stop.

“You’re finished blowing me, Spike. Stop.” 

Spike let go with a pop, then knelt there gasping.

“Don’t talk to anyone about this, okay?” Angel said, adding the okay like it mattered.

Spike nodded anyway.

“Take off your clothes and get in bed with me,” Angel said.

“Miss me, master?” Spike smirked as he rose to his feet.

“Shut up, Spike.”

And there was nothing else for it, then; he might as well have had his vocal chords cut. Spike willed his clothes to vanish and then got into bed next to Angel. To his surprise, daddy wanted to cuddle. Spike was fine with that; he’d always been a cuddler. It was only in the silence that his fear swelled. 

***

Spike did not follow Angel to his bedchambers that night, but he was summoned there anyway. Angel stood by the bed in his silky robe.

“Sit down, William.” Angel patted the bed.

“Like I have a choice.” Spike cringed at the use of his given name. He sensed this would be worse than the night before.

“I shouldn’t have done that, okay, but it’s been hard here. I’m isolated in a lot of things. More than you know.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Yeah I get that. Having a sex slave helps, I suppose.”

“You enjoyed it. I know you did.”

“That’s your justification?”

“You don’t get to argue about this, Spike.”

And just like that, Spike couldn’t disagree.

“Do you remember that opera singer? The one in France when we were hiding out in the theater.”

“Yeah. Sandrine.” It had been almost a hundred years, but he could call up the woman easily in his memory. She was gorgeous, with dark curls and liquid brown eyes. They’d surprised her in her dressing room after a performance, just he and Angelus, and took her hostage while they evaded a mob searching for them. It was all down to Angelus’ perverse love of the performing arts that they were in such a public place at all.

“I let her go.”

“I let her go. You wanted to turn her.” Spike put a glamour on her and she distracted the pitchfork-wielding opera lovers while he and Angelus slipped out into the night.”What of it?”

“Look like Sandrine tonight.” 

“Oh you fils de pute--” Spike’s body transformed as he spoke. His face softened and he lost the sharp angles. His short hair grew to his waist, a waist which tapered as his shoulders narrowed. His chest blossomed two enormous, creamy breasts and he couldn’t feel his balls. Spike/Sandrine wore a white shift in loosely woven muslin. He took the lace cap off of his head and looked down at his new self. It felt strange to inhabit a female body. The breasts were heavy and there was an absence between his legs, replaced with a vague ache. His legs were less defined, and softer. Even his arms felt rounder. All over, Spike felt vulnerable. His own body had been conditioned for speed and violence. This new one seemed made to be held. He supposed it was, quite literally.

“You’re beautiful,” Angel said, his eyes wide. 

Angel tore off the shift, exposing him further. Spike froze with shock. Ripping the fabric hurt his skin and he didn’t know why Angel ripped the clothes, when he could whisk them away with a word. Spike backed up on the bed, in confusion. Angel grabbed his slim wrists and shoved his back onto the mattress. Spike tried to push him off, but in the new body, Angel easily overpowered him. He held his arms over his head. Angel lowered his head and sucked on the tip of one of the lush, new breasts. Involuntarily, Spike stopped struggling and just succumbed to the sensation. 

“It’s so much more--” Spike muttered.

Angel let go of his wrists and embraced him around his narrow waist, lathing the breast with his tongue. Spike wove his fingers in Angel’s stiff hair. 

“Don’t stop that, keep going,” Spike whispered in French using Sandrine’s sweet, high voice. He spread his legs wide and ground his new genitals against Angel’s chest. He was wet. His new pussy was wet and he had no idea how dirty that felt, how extraordinary. This was what it was like for all the girls he’d been with. For Buffy. This was what it felt like when he’d suck her perfect breasts. It was a revelation.

Angel lavished the breasts with his tongue, teasing and gentle. He’d never made love to Spike that way. They’d never coupled softly before. That moment was different, as Angel suckled and nipped. The tenderness made Spike’s remaining fear dissolve.

Angel moved down, kissing along his newly softer stomach and down to his rounded hips.

“Eat my pussy, love. God, I have to know.” 

Angel buried his face in between Spike’s legs, and lavished his clit with kisses. It felt unreal; Spike didn’t know how to process the sensation. Angel slid his fingers inside. He’d never noticed how thick they were before, even when he was spreading Spike’s ass open. Angel stroked and sucked until an orgasm tore through Spike. He screamed something intelligible. 

“Can I have you inside me?” Spike asked, in French.

Angel crawled over him, and penetrated him. Angel’s cock was so thick as to be overwhelming. Angel slowed his thrusts until the pleasure picked up for Spike. Angel churned on top of him. When he finally came, Angel screamed. Almost immediately, his sire looked so guilty and sad, that Spike’s own grin vanished. Angel rolled onto his back.

“Be you again, Spike.”

Spike transformed, losing the feel of the breast under his hand and the illusion of a heartbeat along with it.

“You think you got me pregnant, mate?’

Angel didn’t laugh at the joke. He turned over. “Go back in the amulet.”

***  
Angel hadn’t realized how lonely he was until his brief encounter with Eve. Even though it was under the worst circumstances, the touch of another creature’s skin had felt incredibly good. And then Spike had to go and undo his pants. 

He knew it wasn’t Spike’s fault, but it didn’t lesson his anger with the younger vampire. This was the last thing he needed on top of all the other temptations that had just been laid at his feet.

He’d been thinking of Spike’s touch all day. He’d hoped making him look like someone different would help. He still felt guilty over Sandrine even though a hundred years had passed, so he thought seeing her face again would end his cruel addiction. It hadn’t. It only made things worse, especially how responsive Spike had been as a woman, how curious he’d been to learn. Spike hadn’t even bothered to fight that much. It disgusted Angel that Spike didn’t have the inherent shame to feel bad that he wore a former victim’s body. He’d actually had the gall to enjoy himself, grinding wantonly against Angel’s face and cooing his name. It was the same as the night before. Spike liked sucking cock and fucking no matter the circumstance. It was just his flawed nature--evil begets evil. 

Angel let him out of the amulet. Spike appeared in his satin pants and no shirt; in spite of himself, Angel recognized Spike was sexy. He wasn’t even into men, but Spike had made himself the exception.

“And who am I tonight?” Spike asked, cautiously. His voice was soft, almost resigned.

Angel sighed. Spike’s submission shouldn’t have made him angry, but it did. “Sit next to me.” 

Spike walked to the bed and sat down, flinching slightly as he did. 

“No snark?” Angel asked.

Spike gave him a pained smile, and waited. 

“Be Buffy.” Angel took Spike’s hand and watched it shrink down.

“Please don’t do this,” Spike said in Buffy’s voice. “For her. For me. For everyone. If you forget who I am and what this is. You’ll forfeit your soul, Angel.” 

Spike looked at him with Buffy’s large, green eyes. He’d dressed her in the white dress she’d worn when the Master had almost killed her. The younger version of Buffy that sat beside him looked innocent and pure, the way she had when he’d first fallen in love with her. Spike squeezed his hand, and spoke gently. 

“With me and Wolfram & Hart behind you, you’ll destroy the whole bloody world. Look what you almost did when you just had me and Dru. God knows I was trying to undermine you the whole time and she was utterly barmy, bless her. You still nearly snuffed out the entire planet.” 

“I just want to be near her again.”

Spike shook Buffy’s head.

“This is rape. We put the soft edges on it before, but none of me wants this now. You know what you’ll be doing if you make me lie here with you. You’ll be doing it to her, too.” 

“Shut up, Spike.” 

Spike became silent. Angel pulled him onto the bed and spooned the body that looked, and felt just like Buffy. He kissed the blond hair. He cupped the soft breast. He tried to ignore the tears sliding down her perfect face, but he couldn’t.

Up to that point, he’d never known Spike to cry. The fact that the tears streamed from Buffy’s eyes moved him more than the knowledge that he’d reduced the other vampire to sobs. Angel sighed.

“Spike, be yourself again. You can talk and move however you want.”

The Buffy in his arms transformed back into Spike. 

“Were you just tryin’ to scare me?” Spike whispered, still lying beside him.

“I miss her. I miss her every second.”

“I miss her, too, but you have to be stronger than this.”

“Get back in the amulet, Spike.” 

With his words, the body under his arm vanished. Since becoming Djinn, Spike’s cool body had become hot. Angel pulled the silk sheets around himself and stared at the ceiling. In Spike’s absence he felt unbearably cold.

He was in a most beautiful prison, completely alone, holding everything he could ever want in the palm of his hand, but unable to have any of it.

There were vaults in Wolfram & Hart where he could hide the amulet, but then it would still be within his reach. He knew the only thing to do would be to cast it into the ocean; it was less dramatic than shooting it into the sun, but just as effective. Once again, he’d have to make a sacrifice if he was going to keep the world safe.

**Author's Note:**

> A loved one once called my work, "an affront to God." Please leave a comment and let me know if you agree. ; )


End file.
